Broken
by kagamination-heart
Summary: And then she realizes her pain and how he doesn't know anymore. She realizes that he... Her Lord is no longer her beloved. Hamratio, Hamphelia
1. Realization

**AN: This is a story for Captain Mockingjay. Sorry it's late, and sorry I've sort of ignored my original intention of Hamratio. Much love, and I do hope you enjoy. There is Hamratio. Subtle. You'll see... when the continuation is posted.**_  
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* * *

_"I did love you once."_

Those words had cut through the first time her true love had said them. He had loved her. As in the past tense. He had once loved her, so what changed in him? Mere days ago he was still sending her gifts, but now nothing. Ophelia had returned those gifts, but had that really been enough for him to take back the love he proclaimed?

What about their kinder years together, where they had promised to be together forever? Was that a big lie? A broken promise?

_"I love you not."_

Were these lies or truths? For all that she knew, he could be lying. Didn't those people know the difference between reality and delusion? Was she one of these people? She could never really tell when it came to Hamlet. No one ever could. Oh, how she wished she had kept those remembrances. So that she could go back to those comforting times in which she thought that Hamlet was her one and only.

Or had this charade continued from even then? Innocent, they said she was. Had her lord been using her to cover up his more forbidden desires? Was her lord as cruel as these actions were - even when they were little kids growing up together?

_"Get thee to a nunnery!"_

Now, where was she to go? Innocence. Her innocence was gone, Hamlet knew that much. He was truly, truly mad. He knew. He knew, yet he said so in front of her father. It had only occurred to her then that he knew of her betrayal mere moments after he had left her alone. So was this the reason that he had betrayed her as such?

He did betray her in more ways than one. Ophelia truly, honestly, was still in love with him. And yet... and yet these feelings were causing her so much pain.

She didn't want to think about this anymore. But for some reason, her mind always wandered to this subject. Was this what people meant when they said they were 'mad in love'? This, this was not something she liked very much. Yet this was how things were, and she could do nothing to change it.

This girl was so stupid. This girl was so dumb. This girl... made bad decisions.

This girl betrayed her one love.

This girl must die.

* * *

No, that was just nonsense. Her? Die? All she had done was fall in love with the man who had undoubtedly betrayed her in both mind and body.

Was she mad? Was this madness? No, it surely could not come so soon and so suddenly. Not while lamenting the loss of her beloved Hamlet. There was still a chance, still a way to perhaps become happy once more. She had lost her innocence, once upon a time.

Ophelia needed to see him again. There was something up his sleeve, there always was. Perhaps this was just a lie, fooling her like he once used to. Exchanging words with him was always fun and made her days just a bit more bearable. Oh, her brother. Her beloved brother. She missed him. He, who was off in Paris... His comforting words and ease of conversation was more than she could ask of her father, full of empty and harsh words. didn't he understand that it was Hamlet's doing, his proposal, his future that she had already been decided in? Why was it now, of all times, that her father make her take actions against her lord's affections? Why didn't he do it before? Before her heart had been completely captured.

This girl, she was being weak.

This girl needed to see him once more.

* * *

Bad decision. This girl was being bad. Ophelia had not the courage to follow through with her want to see and speak to Hamlet. Being bad meant punishment.

This was her punishment.

This ripping feeling - this burning in the left area of her bosom, right where the heart was said to be. Was it a breaking heart? Had the scene before, whence Hamlet had insulted her and saddened her, not been enough? no, to see her once lover be so close to another, when he had completely reject her in his life. Horatio, sweet Horatio.

The jealousy was curious. She had wanted to steal one last glance - one last private moment of his - before things were to be public and she would definitely get no chance to speak with him. She had miscalculated. she hadn't expected Horatio to be there.

The truth dawned on her as she heard the bits and pieces of their conversation. They were due out in a bit, to watch the Players perform. But the truth was finally clear in her head as Hamlet alluded more and more to it. His madness, current events that coincided with other seemingly unrelated facts... It became clear.

But she didn't care about that. It meant that possibly, just possibly, he had been lying and this madness of his was a guise. Did he truly care for her?

No. Those words tore through her heart.

_"I will wear him In my heart's core." _She knew what that meant. That was Hamlet... not loving her, but loving another. Horatio. The sweet, charming, suitable man that Ophelia could not bring herself to hate.

Ophelia. That was her name. It meant help. Help. It didn't mean lovable, it didn't mean anything. She was aid. Yet she had feelings, and sometimes she could not do as her namesake had made her. Help. Serpentine.

She was a coward.

This girl, she cannot contain her feelings.

This girl did not deserve a happy end.

* * *

Was it just her for had Hamlet gotten more lewd recently? Ophelia dodged his remarks as best she could, but it still hurt all the same. Was she just a plaything for him? Yet she couldn't help but be a bit nostalgic of what happened. They danced around words, engaging in word play that she used to do with Hamlet so very much. He was setting traps for her, ensnaring her. And she found herself not minding. If she could turn back the clock, and go back to their playful words that didn't have such a bad effect on her she would.

But now it just reminded her of that time, and how different it was now. His descent to madness made all of this hurt happen.

Yet she was happy for that brief moment, before she felt the crushing sadness weigh upon her soul. The sense of normalcy returned for just a moment, just that fleeting moment - then she realized the dynamic between it. Her dear darling Hamlet. No. Not her dear darling Hamlet. Not anymore. Not ever.

Ophelia realized she just about lost it there. Her rationality. Her poise. Her mind. But no - she held on. After all, there was always other things to succumb to than a lost love. She could rebuild herself. Move on. Though really, she knew she could never really 'move on'. Those were foreign words to her ear - superficial and impossible. No one really got over a first love, and she was no exception. In fact, she'd say that this was more accurate in her first place, since he was her first and only love.

Only love. Better take note of that.

No, that was too painful. Hamlet wrote and scribbled in his little expensive book of his. She couldn't afford such luxuries.

And she took a moment to cruelly laugh at herself while she was, indeed, in private. Another look, another reason. Her father's reason, to make it all the more worse. They weren't even from the same status. And while they were _expected _it didn't make that dynamic any less significant. Using her, that he was. A girl he knew well from childhood - she was safe. Hamlet weighed his options, of course. All of them. And it always took him a long time to do so.

Were the ten, fifteen years they had been together been his contemplation? His long, drawn out contemplation of the pros and cons. That was so like Hamlet, now that she thought of it.

Where was her brother when she truly needed him?

She should be happy for her brother. That she could. Yet, he wasn't without his faults. Sometimes she wanted him to just think for once, you know? Just once. So that he wouldn't get himself in so much trouble.

This girl, at least had someone who loved her.

Though, not in the way she always hoped.

* * *

"Fa... ther..."

That was the end of that. Ended by her love's hand.

* * *

Ophelia was so happy. Happy. She hadn't felt that in the longest time. Happy. But this was different. She wasn't sure what this was. She felt like singing. And that she did. In public. And it felt freeing. For once, she didn't care. And that made these feelings that she had disappear. Poof. Gone.

"Happy" was what she called it. It was distorted, but there was a lightness that resembled it. Her mind was free from it's bounds.

There was no judgement. She could see it in their eyes, right in open court, they knew exactly what had happened. And all that escaped her mouth was a silly little laugh, so entertained by this. Maybe she was the only one that interpreted it as cynical. Then again, being distracted as she was, she could be interpreted in many ways. This was only one way, the way she saw herself.

Ah, how Hamlet was not here. So befitting. So... Ha. He was the cause of all this, did he know? It was his fault. His insults, his love for another, his banter at the play, and his murderous ways.

Oh, she _knew. _She _understood. _It didn't mean she wasn't _absolutely furious _at him. Her father may have deserved such death, but why did it have to be him to administer such a cruel punishment?

She supposed she should forgive and forget.

She did love her father. Even if he was a man. Being a woman in this day and age made her insignificant. Nothing but a means for wealth. Nothing but a means for social advancement. And yet even her father and disproved the match between her and Hamlet, even though that would bring both the wealth and status into their family.

And now their family could no longer continue.

No, she was the woman.

Their family's fate rested on him now. Unfortunately. The gravity of this situation had changed. She could no longer be rational and level-headed. He had to take up that responsibility.

And deep down, Ophelia knew that she was setting it up for tragedy.

Laertes.

* * *

Laertes. A little too little too late. Her brother had to see her like this. She was sad about that. But she couldn't change anything now. She had to go with the flow. Like water. So flowing, so smooth, so majestic. It was beautiful really. This clear liquid - it both had the power to sustain and destroy human life. She never really did appreciate it as much as she should - but now given this new connection, she rather liked it.

Hamlet no longer really kept her in check. Perhaps he should have been more careful of his actions. Well, his inactions.

Yet her love for her brother she could not really shake off. He looked so... so desperate, wanting for nothing but revenge for his lost father. Their lost father. Ophelia just wanted to laugh. If only he knew. If only, if only. The world was full of 'if only's. And it pissed her off. So much.

And she finally understood, as in open court she gave those flowers away. No longer did she care what they thought. She laughed. They were so immaterial. Claudius, Gertrude, Laertes, all of them.

Except for Laertes.

He cared.

He wept.

He hurt.

And he was a bit too impulsive. Hopefully he would heed her warning.

She finally said it - but did they understand how exactly her violets had withered? No. Along with all the other fleeting words.

Now, there was a brook somewhere close by - there should be more flowers there. Flowers. And water. There was water. Majestic, flowing, beautiful water.

Water.

* * *

Now that she was in the water, what could she do? There was no saving herself.

Ophelia, you stupid girl.

This girl was an idiot.

This girl would not stop panicking. The panic was not part of the plan. But the water just wouldn't take her - it was taking it's time, building up the suspense and letting her think of the circumstances. This water was cruel. She sobbed a little as she realized her cowardice. This was the result. The result that no doubt, was causing pain all around.

Pain. It was her doing. But by her doing, it was stemmed by Hamlet.

Hamlet.

Die.

* * *

The little bubble collapsed on her - pounds of the fabric of the dress collapsed onto her just as suddenly as she had descended from the tree branch. She was trying to get more Rue. She needed that Rue. Well, she had needed - now it didn't look like she'd be needing much of anything. The heavy weight of her dress tugged at her, willing her to go deeper, but she wanted to stay in this serene place for just a little longer. The tiny bubbles surrounding her from being dragged down were mesmerizing - some people would even call it beautiful. The bigger ones, rising up and breaking the surface even faster than the small ones, escaped her own mouth and nose. This, she wouldn't mind this at all.

If this was the last thing, then so be it. She'd laugh if she had any air left in her mouth, but she hadn't.

And so she let herself succumb. All part of the plan, she'd think.

All part of the plan, cynical.

Because it wasn't.

Hamlet.

Water. The lovely substance made her glad that this was how she would meet her end - not some other horrifying way. It wrapped it's warm arms around her, comforting her and soothing her burning lungs. Easing such pain. Alleviating all her worries. Washing away all the troubles of the world. And Ophelia had to say, things were going just swell and dandy.

And yet...

There was pity in her heart.

And she realized what she was doing. And what was happening. Her life. Was about to end. And she came to realize just what that meant. To those she cared for. Hamlet. Laertes. Her lover. Her brother.

No. No. Why had Fate given her this time to think. No. No! She had been distracted. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. She didn't plan this! No, that was just her madness speaking in her place. She was sane! She wanted to live. Living. That word. Living? She would not be living. She would being already dead, without Hamlet. Living. It. No.

No, please no.

Yes, please yes.

End it all.

And even though no one could see her, and even though she was under the water that no one would notice, she let a tear shed.

_I'm sorry._

_Violets. Innocence._

_I'm sorry._


	2. Acceptation

**AN: Finally posted up - the second part of Captain Mockingjay's Christmas present. And now the Hamratio is just a bit more obvious.**

* * *

She felt his hurt.

It hurt her so. To hear those words that he had spoken, a figurative knife stabbed into her. It was funny enough, that she could feel such acute feelings even in death. Yet, because of how she felt about Hamlet, she could relate to how he felt.

Yes, it felt freeing and delightful when Hamlet made that display of himself in her grave. Though it was an act. It's an act. All Hamlet was to her was an act. All she was to him was an obligation. His real feelings... were locked up deep inside of him. And with careful observation on her part, only one person was able to unlock it.

And it wasn't her.

And now as she looked down on the last dying breath, only then did she finally let her tears fall in realization. Horatio, good Horatio. To live in the death of your beloved must hurt so. And he thought so too.

_"Horatio, I am dead;_

_Thou liv'st..."_

The expression on his face stabbed into her heart. He was trying to die... it must be so, for why else did he take such drastic measures?

_"Here's yet some liquid left." _Horatio had even brought the cup to his lips, prepared to die for the sake of his love. But Hamlet snatched it from his grasp, his expression of utter despair and desperation. 'No!' the prince screamed internally. 'It cannot be!'

_"Give me the cup. Let go!" _Hamlet, now in death was the truth so clear to her.

Ophelia had been so deceived.

Hamlet loved him. And in his arms he died.

_"Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince,_

_And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!"_


End file.
